The life & times of the eternally evolving, erratic, eccentric expatriate (who loves the color violet)

Monthly Archives: August 2014

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Violet who had a dream. That dream was to write her own book and have it published. What it was going to be about and how she was was going to go about it, she had no idea. She didn’t even have a catchy, quirky title ready. Far-fetched, flighty, and quite possibly fallible indeed, but it was still HER dream.

But, as with so many personal projects, life happened and her dream was put on the back burner for many years. Between working full time and devoting time to her family and an occasional fleeting hobby, Violet found herself more than occupied with daily life. But every once in a while, that dream would resurface in the back of her mind. Sometimes it nagged at her, other times it pleaded with her, but it never completely went away.

Until one fateful day, when Violet decided that she had waited long enough. It was finally time to be proactive about her perennial dream and to take the first formidable step toward making it a reality. It was now or never…

Powerful cliffhanger there, no? Did I make you want to read on to Chapter 2?

It’s true. I want to write a book. A *real* book. As can probably be inferred through my blog, I have a lot to say. But beyond that, I feel that I have a lot of meaningful things to say. That is why I began my Vagrant Violet blog to begin with. As I mentioned in the section of my blog, “Why Do I Write?”, I write for my own benefit, but also to hopefully potentially reach someone out there in WorldWideWebLand who might feel like an unrelatable anomaly. Hopefully that anomaly finds some sort of solace simply in knowing that s/he is not the only one out there who feels or thinks a certain way.

Reading all kinds of genres of books and articles has helped me immensely in this respect and has gotten me through many tough times, though there were so many instances (mostly in the pre-internet days) when I didn’t have the means of finding these resources. But now that that has changed, and I hope, in turn, that even if my book ultimately doesn’t sell a single copy, that I gave it my best shot and don’t live with any doubts or regrets. And if my book winds up selling just one copy, that the reader will find something meaningful that they can take away from reading it.

So today, I had the unique opportunity to meet with the lovely Jessica Talbot, Kiwi author of Picaflor: Finding Home in South America . As we sat down for nearly an hour and a half, I avidly took down notes regarding her book (which I am going to read once I finish my current novel, “The Aquariums of Pyongyang”), and the process and challenges she went through to have her book published. I left feeling cautiously optimistic and inspired by her words. Is it going to be an easy process? No, not in the least. But will it be a worthwhile one? Yes.

So my latest endeavor has now made itself known to me. And now, the only thing left to do it seems, is to start type, type, typing away.

All too often, I find myself bogged down with all the negativity that daily life can present. As a result, I feel drained, cranky, and pessimistic far more easily. There’s no denying that there is a lot to gripe about (you don’t have to ponder for too long what that might entail). But I don’t want to be that way. I want to more fully appreciate the life that I am living and all the blessings, great and small, that I have in my life, but sometimes tend to overlook or disregard. Life is fickle and anything, for better or worse, has the capacity to change in a day. It is time to practice awareness and being more conscious and conscientious of what I DO have. Hence the reason I have decided to take the Gratitude Challenge. Here we go!…

Less than a month ago in late July, I turned 31 years old. Thirty-one itself is not a particularly special number. Nothing noteworthy happens at 31, but each year that I complete feels like a milestone in itself, an accomplishment, a small victory. It wasn’t that long ago that I couldn’t even imagine myself at this age. Frankly, at the crazy and self-destructive rate I was going in my younger days, I had my sincere doubts that I would even make it this far.

But here I am.

Looking back at where I came from is difficult. When I think about how naïve I was, how much of a victim I used to be, the unwise decisions I made, and the people who I inadvertently hurt for whatever reason, I feel humbled and sheepish. But then again, I suppose that if we were all going to be judged on what we did in our teens and early twenties, most of us would never leave the house.

While I wish I could change my past, I know that that’s not a possibility. Maybe it’s for the best, maybe it was my dharma to do the things that I did and experience the things that I experienced to make me the person I am today. It’s better than being full of regrets.

There are still a great deal of life lessons that I wish I had known when I was younger. If I were able to impart some wisdom onto my former younger self, it would probably go something like this:

Dear younger Violet,

This is your future writing to you. At this point, you’re young and still naïve, as much as you don’t believe it. I’m writing to let you know that you are in for a real trip in your 20s. I’m not going to lie- You are going to experience broken hearts, confusion, and cruel, toxic people. You are also going to experience joblessness, loneliness, and madness. My point is not to scare or depress you about what the future brings, but rather, let you know that in the end, YOU WILL OVERCOME IT.

It’s not going to be an easy road. There will be many false starts, many detours, many times when you feel utterly lost. Remember that in the end, it will ultimately lead you to where you are supposed to be. Even if it doesn’t make any sense right now, THINGS HAPPEN FOR A REASON, EVEN IF IT DOESN’T ALWAYS SEEM THAT WAY AT THE TIME.

You are going to be riddled with self-doubt. Don’t bother looking to others for some sort of benchmark or reference point. It’s a waste of time. The only person’s approval that you need is your own. Only you can validate what you do and who you are. STOP COMPARING YOURSELF TO OTHERS.

A distorted physical self-image will prove to be one of the fiercest, ruthless demons that you will face. Don’t desecrate and depreciate the temple that is your body. Being healthy is fundamental, but there is more to who you are and your self-worth than a number on the scale or the circumference of your waistline. Physical beauty is fickle and comes and goes with time; just know that YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL PERSON.

Far too often, you permit other people to use you, abuse you, take advantage of you, demean you, walk all over you, and hurt you. It’s clear that you care too much about what other people think of you and how they perceive you, to an unhealthy extent. Being considerate of other people’s feelings and diplomatic is one thing, being a doormat is quite another. Non illegitimi carborundum (“don’t let the bastards grind you down”). Don’t be afraid to STAND UP FOR YOURSELF more frequently and BELIEVE IN YOURSELF.

I’m not going to bombard you with too many unnecessary details and excessive mantras. Things will fall into place and the greater picture reveals itself with time. Just know that, above all, you are a kind, decent person and furthermore, you are a worthy person. Life is too short not to be happy with what and who you are. Remember never to forget this.

This morning, on August 11th, I woke up at my usual time of 5 a.m. (yes, I do that on a regular basis). Nothing was terribly exceptional about the morning. Not the weather, not what I had for breakfast, nor what I had planned for the day. But I woke up in a genuinely joyful mood. I felt happy, I felt peaceful, and savored the sensation periodically throughout the day. Toward the end of the day, after I came home from my job, I decided to take a nap, asking Fede to wake me up in an hour or so. Still feeling fine, still feeling optimistic.

Little did I realize as I slept that the internet exploded within the course of that hour with the shocking news of the tragic passing of comedian Robin Williams. Within 30 seconds of being online, news of his death could be found on most every website, every form of social media.

My good mood came to a screeching halt.

As I skimmed the articles reporting the end of his life, the general consensus was that the immensely talented actor’s death, the man who had made me laugh out loud as Mork, Patch Adams, the Genie, John Keating, and so many other memorable and beloved characters, was at least initially presumed to be a suicide.

Something hit me in my gut. Hard.

I remember reading a while ago, I don’t remember when, I don’t remember where, that Mr. Williams had been in rehab toward the end of his life for drug and alcohol abuse, and had suffered from bipolar disorder and depression.

What else could I do but bow my head in the solemn realization and understanding that, had I not been given the opportunity to avail of help in my life because of my own battles with mental illness, that could have been how my story ended many times over.

The majority of the reactions and comments that I read online were an outpouring of a wave of sadness and disbelief. But there were also a few that almost seemed angry and judgmental in nature, expressing that suicide is cowardly, foolish, and above all, selfish.

While I cannot argue at this point that suicide is wrong, I cannot simply dismiss Robin Williams as any of those things.

Whether you are a millionaire or a pauper, whether you are a man or a woman, even whether you are a parent or not, depression does not discriminate.

Depression in any form, including bipolar disorder, is a formidable, heinous, and cruel illness that affects some of the most beautiful and most vulnerable people in this world. It is a crippling condition that robs you of your very senses, sucks all joy and hope from your life, and leaves you in what feels like an endless state of darkness. It overwhelms a person completely, even if you are charismatic, talented, and beloved by so many, as he was.

It’s scary as Hell. And above all, it is a condition for which deserves compassion and the opportunity for treatment.

I cannot pretend that I knew or understood all the circumstances in this great man’s life, simply because we shared a similar affliction. But I do know and understand all too well what depression is and how it can easily, facelessly, and shamelessly steal light from our lives, just as it did in the case of Mr. Williams.

I want to believe that his death will bring much-deserved attention to this condition that is all too often swept under the carpet and considered too taboo to speak its name. My hope is, amidst the incredible loss that the world has experienced on August 11th, 2014, that at least one person can realize that he or she is not cowardly or foolish or selfish if they are entertaining thoughts of suicide; that their demon has a name, and that they are not alone in the world. Suicide is not the answer, nor is silence.